Chapter 01: Dreaming

The sun rises over the misty mountains of an anciet Chinese village. Frozen dew drops hang suspended on tree leaves. It is early Spring, and the buds of the flowering trees are just beginning to show. A few small huts sit nestled within a mountain plateau, thin trickles of smoke lifting from only about half of them. Some have paper plastered over small windows, while others have bundles of sticks blocking them.
As the sun creeps over the mountains, the view pans to one man alone atop one of the lower slopes, a large tree outstrecthing it branches to the new day's light. He is methodically practicing gong fu, with sharp precise movements mixed with slow steady turns. He occasionally resets his footing, stretching between rounds. His breath creates puffs of vapor as he exhales sharply with each movement.
Two geese fly overhead, squawking loudly as they pass. The man retrieves a bow and an arrow from a quiver on his back, sets up a shot, and then after a moment of hesitation, lowers with bow and watches the geese. His arrow head glints slightly in the sunlight, as he watches the geese fly further and further out of sight. A gust of wind begins to ruffle his clothing, exposing another weapon, a Chinese sword, holstered at his waist. A few small, barely formed leaves shake off the tree in the breeze, and begin to float silently towards the ground.
Before one of the leaves can make it to the ground, the man turns around abruptly, lines up his shot with the bow and arrow, and releases. It quickly snaps from his bow, puncturing the leaf and impaling it against the trunk of the enourmous tree. The man smiles to himself slightly, and lowers the weapon. He walks over to the tree, where it is apparent there are many notches from many years in various stages of healing. He removes the arrow, the leaf remains stuck, but after a couple quick shakes it comes loose and floats back towards the ground.
The warrior adds the arrow back to his quiver, sharply whistles and a horse of pure white, grazing on a few small patches of thawing yellow grass, lifts its head and trots over to the man. It is a strong horse with slightly shorter legs. The man mounts it and the both adeptly navigate the rocky slope downwards until they reach level ground below, in which they pick up speed and ride quickly towards a temple nestled at the far reaches of the plateau.
Yi snaps awake, startled by how vivid the dream had been. He sits up, reaching up to his head to find his bun disheveled and hair falling across his face. He looks towards the window, and outwards towards the vast extent of mountains and mist that surround the Daoist temple he is residing in.
"What a strange dream," he mutters slightly to himself, still seeing the man's face clearly in his mind, a face he has never seen before he is sure. He bends one leg, places his elbow on his knee, and rests his chin on his hand in contemplation. Had he seen that man before?
In the next moment he jolts back to reality, looking at the rising sun over the horizon. It wasn't dawn, it wasn't even early morning. It was late morning, which meant he was late.
"Shit," he curses, and begins to scramble quickly up from his bed and prepare to meet the disapproving Head Priest.